Familiar Stranger
by Saltrova
Summary: Jon wretched his eyes from those intelligent orbs that danced with humor unknown to him, and schooled his features into one of distant politeness as he faced the tall figure that had appeared in the background—and felt his blood freeze.
1. Chapter 1

JON

"My sweet Alayne," the short man announced in a silky smooth voice, a strange smile touching his lips. He held Jon's gaze even as he swept his arm back dramatically; his grey-green eyes both unnervingly intent and innocently unassuming.

Jon wretched his eyes from those intelligent orbs that danced with humor unknown to him, and schooled his features into one of distant politeness as he faced the tall figure that had appeared in the background—and felt his blood freeze.

Those eyes.

Blue eyes.

He knew them.

They had haunted his nightmares and tainted his dreams. The contempt in them had seared into him like daggers in his boyish heart, slicing apart his dreams to fit in. To belong. To be one of them.

A Stark.

Those blue eyes were as familiar as the angry hiss that always accompanied them in his dreams. _"Bastard blood."_ It hissed. _"You don't belong. You are not one of us. Why are you here? Who are you to sit at this table as if you were one of us?"_

Jon felt his throat constricting. The buried hurt rising up to claim him. It couldn't be. How could this be happening? How could she be here? She was dead. Long slaughtered and thrown into a river to become one with the fishes that were the sigil of her house. To the water they returned upon death and in the water she had been disposed in.

But yet those Tully blue eyes stared at him, widening as they locked with his. And Jon tensed . . . waiting . . .

But they remained clear and bright, devoid of any anger or malice. Instead tears filled their startling depth, only to be quickly brushed away by a delicate hand before she dipped low into an effortless curtsy.

"Lord Commander," she murmured, her voice soft and demure.

Jon blinked, confused, studying her intently as she straightened up.

 _She's not the one I thought she was,_ he realized. _The Lady Catelyn._

But yet he knew her.

She was . . .

 _Sansa._

The name shot through his heart like a bolt.

Only then did Jon finally lay his eyes on the dull brown hair that was meant to mask her, but it flowed around her like a beacon: the brown hair of House Stark.


	2. Chapter 2

ALAYNE/SANSA

Alayne wasn't sure who the surprise visitor would be, but Father had made it clear that she was meant to dress to impress and wait for her cue so that he could present her.

As she heard her name announced, she smoothed her dress and stepped out from behind the doors; pasting a smile on her face, she swept into the room.

Father had a pleased smile on his lips and a Littlefinger look in his eyes that caused her confident bearing to falter for a breath of a second, before Alayne braced herself and turned her focus to their guest.

She nearly took an involuntarily step back as a heavy weight slammed into her chest and the air refused to flow to her lungs.

The bitter taste of regret filled her mouth and guilt lingered on her tongue. Would he haunt her now? Was this to be her new torment? And how had Littlefinger managed this? To confront her with her deepest sorrow?

On the Sept of Baelor she had watched Father's head roll, she remembered. She had sobbed and fallen to her knees, wanting to wake up. But the nightmare had persisted, getting realer by the second.

But yet here he stood. Alive and well. Looking as real as could be. Safe.

But his grey eyes were narrowed. Those familiar grey eyes that had always looked upon her with love.

Sansa cringed, not sure what she would find in those eyes. Hurt? Disappointment?

Her heart tore at the thought. _Father, forgive me._ It was a silent plea.

Sansa slowly lifted her gaze, determined to face what she had buried deep inside for so long. Before she had stared without really seeing, lost in the memories; but now she really studied him, memorizing his beloved face once more . . .

It wasn't Father, Sansa realized. It couldn't be. There was something off.

But her heart knew this man.

It had to be . . .

 _Jon._

She stifled a gasp.

The tears caught her by surprise. She hadn't cried in so long. And she couldn't start now with Littlefinger standing beside her.

Sansa hurriedly wiped her eyes and felt herself sink into a curtsy. "Lord Commander."

When she straightened, those grey eyes were latched onto her, burning a hole through her with their intensity. And then they widened and Sansa saw the recognition that filled them.

Her shoulders relaxed as she returned his gaze, her eyes locked on his as if he were a lifeline.

The warmth in his stare washed over her, and Sansa saw home reflected in those beloved grey irises that resembled so well, the proud walls of Winterfell, the only home of House Stark.


End file.
